


More

by lettalady



Category: British Actor RPF
Genre: F/M, Lawyer Tom Hiddleston
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-31
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2018-07-28 10:39:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7636951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lettalady/pseuds/lettalady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[I'll Always Want] More</p>
<p>Thomas William Hiddleston is the youngest partner in the firm Dean, Richards, Casey, and Hiddleston. At the request of one of the senior partners he takes on a case, divorce proceedings for yet another of the city’s social elite.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

** **

 

**H** e leans back in his office chair until he feels the front two feet lift from the floor and sighs as his eyes light upon the stack of paperwork occupying the IN box on the short filing cabinet that sits to the left of his desk. They thought that by making the cabinet of mahogany, mimicking the design of his desk, that somehow it would lessen the eyesore? It makes his workspace uneven and he's knocked his knee on the thing more than once. Nevermind the fact that it is filled with files – countless pages that all served as evidence of the fact that his days were long, and his nights, frequently sleepless.

Tom narrows his eyes at the offending extension to his desk. There's another inch of folders now filling the IN section that definitely hadn't been there when he'd arrived this morning. The topmost file, easily recognizable for the filing system he and his secretary have adopted, brings another sigh from within him. Another new client that the firm hopes to represent, someone the partners have taken it upon themselves to foster off on him.

Business is good. That's not the reason for his internal lament. No, it's the nature of the work. First lowering the chair so all four legs sit on solid ground again, he reaches to his left to pluck the file from the top of the stack. A quick glance, just enough to afford himself coverage if questioned regarding having seen it, and in that quick gleaning of information he'll decide if he wants to take on the new client or shuffle it further down the chain to one of the young ones.

He skips past the names, eyes skimming the top document quickly. Petition for divorce. His first instinct is to pass. He is, modestly, the best they have when it concerns domestic cases, but damn, he's getting sick of the petty squabbling between parties. Miserable people making everyone else miserable all for the sake of _things_.

He snorts, noticing the details written out in his secretary's handwriting. Net worth of the couple alone basically ensures they needed top notch lawyers to do their battles for them. At least, that's what the self-entitled elite always thought. Yes, this one he'll pass on to one of the associates. They're always chomping at the bit to try to prove themselves.

-

Two days later Jean catches him on his way back in from lunch, her expression openly curious. "Dean is in your office, Tom."

Bernard Edward Dean. The man with three first names that had hired Tom into the firm, and then was the strongest voice of support until Tom ultimately made partner. He'd had dinner with Bernard and the family just last week. Tom offers Jean a confident smile, hoping to reassure her that nothing is amiss, and continues on towards his office. It isn't often that any of the partners do more than pop their heads in for a brief visit with each other while in the building. To be found – or left, depending on your viewpoint – waiting? Even considering the relationship between himself and Bernard this is unusual. Highly unusual.

"Tom!" Bernard is on his feet and offering Tom a jovial greeting as he comes through the doorway, clearly having been occupying his time by puttering through Tom's files. Sweeping aside momentary irritation – anything that might be in those files was already known to Bernard anyway – Tom reaches to accept the offered handshake. "How was lunch? Did you walk down to that place we were discussing?" He barely waits for Tom to nod before he is nodding himself and carrying on, full force. Typical Bernard behavior. "Good, good. Tom. Listen, man. I was wondering what your thoughts were regarding the MacDaniel case?"

"My thoughts..." Tom picks his words with care, unsure what Bernard is after. Taking a few steps closer he realizes it is that particular folder that is open on his desk. Again he feels a flare of distaste, the same one that had risen within him upon first glance. That amount of money involved, it would undoubtedly be a nasty, lengthy proceeding. "Jean provided some notes. I think, well I think it's a good case for Craig to cut his teeth on."

That news makes his senior partner blink at him. "Craig? No. No. When I talked to the family I promised our best would be on the case, Tom. Our best being _you_. Gave my word to them personally that you'd handle it."

So there's no fostering it off. Tom swallows, forcing the ill feeling to pass and keeping his face carefully neutral until the danger of his true feelings in the matter being shown dissipates. He edges the corner of his mouth up to feign a half smile, "Old friend calling in a few favors, yea?"

It was no secret that Bernard enjoyed a different lifestyle than most. He'd never brought it into the workplace before, to Tom's knowledge. Never pulled strings or allowed small favors. Why he would do so now ignited a small light of curiosity... Perhaps the MacDaniel file would need a bit more perusal. If nothing else, just to discover this connection that Bernard was apparently hell-bent on honoring.

Sensing Tom's cooperation, Bernard sidles up to clap a hand on Tom's shoulders, beaming in his signature fashion before he rapidly departs. "Great. Great. Keep me apprised?" Again he hardly waits for Tom's nod before returning a nod of his own and spinning on his heel, leaving Tom reeling.

Tom leans forward to brace himself on the edge of his desk, staring down at the pages of the file spread out before him. So he was taking the case after all. Why did it feel like he'd never truly had a choice in the matter? Righting himself, he steps around his chair, all the while staring at the pages littering his desk. A deeper dive into the documents, then, into the lives of the pair attempting to part ways. Who were the MacDaniels and what had driven them from the decision to marry to wanting to divorce not two years after tying the knot?

Before getting too lost in the narrative he jiggles the mouse, bringing his computer to life. Quickly he pops out a message in the chat window that is always open, his connection to Jean without the need of a phone or physically walking out to her desk.

_Get Tripp and the hounds up here. I've got something to keep them busy the rest of the day._

Distantly he hears the ping of his message being received. If the lads are back from lunch they'll be in his office soon. He'll have more information about the MacDaniels by the end of the day than he'll know what to do with. Another sleepless night, it seems.

-

Catherine Paige MacDaniel nee Henderson vs Jacob Mortimer MacDaniel, the firm representing her, not him. The Henderson family, prominent in the area, curiously mum save for the wedding announcement. Nothing, even, when rumors started to swirl a few months into their daughter's marriage that the couple was far from happy upon the return from their honeymoon. Nor when Jacob was publicly caught having an affair less than a year from the day he vowed to honor and cherish Catherine Paige Henderson for as long as they both shall live. Had the Henderson family turned their back on their daughter? Clearly no, if they were calling in favors to get their daughter the best representation in the city.

It had taken Tripp and Craig less than twenty minutes to discover the connection between Bernard Dean and the Hendersons. They went way back. Friends from their college days. Depending on how close the Henderson patriarch and Bernard remained through the years, it was entirely possible that Bernard was intimately familiar with the MacDaniel scandal. It landed Tom in a perfectly wretched place. The job was all about walking a tightrope, but this time it seemed that rather than five stories up he would be fifty, with no safety net below. If, for the first time in his professional career, he bungled this, what would Bernard say?

Glaring at the clippings that had been added to the folder, he curses the man smiling up at him: Jacob Mortimer MacDaniel, and his apparent inability to be a decent person. It had been late in the year three years previous, that Jacob MacDaniel and Catherine Henderson were first photographed together at a function thrown by her father. In terms of surface appearances, all seemed well: two gorgeous people having found one another at a corporate function, of all places.

Tom, glancing at the clock, snuffs a laugh. Quickly approaching midnight and he's still in the office, pouring over files. Had he chosen a different profession, had he not been buried in books in order to fulfill his dream, he too might have found love across the room. Of course, considering the situation the MacDaniels are currently facing, his jealousy is misplaced.

A few months, and several public appearances later, the engagement announcement came out. Curiously, after that he never appeared at any of the events where she was documented as attending. Tom had driven Tripp crazy with requests to dig deeper, or see if any of the venues still retained their guest lists. It was Jack who had come back with the news that had set Tom's teeth on edge. A few months before the marriage announcement came out, on the same night Catherine had attended a charity benefit for the downtown hospital Jacob had been spotted out carousing with a band of coworkers, also causing a bit of mayhem to the point of being arrested.

Only halfway through the findings that Jack, Craig, and Tripp had brought him, Tom pulls off his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose in disgust. The action won't remedy the words he's read, or indeed do anything to change the events of the past, but he can't stomach reading anything further for the moment.

Whatever had made Catherine marry this man?

Whatever it had been, it certainly hadn't lasted. Not two years later and already filing for divorce. Heaving a sigh, he pushes back from his desk and lifts himself out of his chair. No more stomach turning gossip today. Before leaving for the night he taps out a note to Jean, asking her to remind him to let Bernard know he planned on reaching out to Catherine MacDaniel in order to set up a meeting. Time to get to know the woman he had been reading about for three days straight, and hear all that she was willing to share.

\--

Tripp and the hounds are all too happy to be released for their hunt. All too happy to get back to the usual filing and run of the mill requests presented to them by the other partners in the firm. Tom's break comes in the form of lunch, something light snagged as he walks back from visiting with Tripp and the hounds, and attention paid to some of his other current cases. Right in the middle of mentally laying the groundwork for a headache inducing proceeding, just as he steps off the elevator, Jean stands up from her desk and starts madly waving her phone at him.

His phone. He pats at his pockets, and upon finding them empty looks up again, shrugging at his receptionist. The halfway developed arguments begin to fade as he refocuses on remembering where he'd left the little device. With the hounds? No. One of them would have run it after him, and the way Jean is acting, she's been trying to get into contact with him. No. Wherever it is it is tweeting madly and no one is around to notice.

His office. He glances down to find the doorway blocked by two bodies. One, large and clad in a dark suit not dissimilar from his own, he recognizes. Bernard. The person standing off to his side – he's not sure. Surely not a new associate. Not the way she's dressed. Not that the linen suit would be out of place but something about her doesn't seem to fit with the air of a lawyer.

Exhausted from his late night, ill-tempered for the facts he's been having to scour and insufficient lunch, and his mood worsened by forgetting his phone and coming back to finding this surprise waiting for him, he gives himself a shake and strides forward, continuing towards his office and the impending introduction. Presentation always matters, no matter your mood.

"Tom!" Bernard swings an arm wide as he looks over the stranger's shoulder. "We were just about to raise a search party! After a short tour around the place we thought we might pop by and say hello." Bernard sidesteps closer to Tom and in so doing leans to offer a stage-whispered comment to his female companion, "Always working, this one." Settling to Tom's side, he reaches around and claps Tom hard on the shoulders, jarring his partner forward a step to better be able to look at the third person in their little grouping before Tom's office door. "Tom, let me present to you my goddaughter: Catherine Paige MacDaniel nee Henderson."

Tom blinks at the woman, Catherine MacDaniel, finally realized in the flesh after having only existed on paper and within his mind for so many days. Though as they say, the camera adds ten pounds, she's thinner than she was in the pictures stuffed into the folder on his desk. In truth this woman hardly resembles the glowing, smiling person that had graced the society pages. Particularly for the face she's currently making.

With one eye squinted shut and her nose scrunched in distaste, she shakes her head quickly, eyes focused on Bernard. "Please, Uncle B. Don't call me that. Paige. Just Paige."

A quick mental note made, Tom suppresses his curiosity. Is it MacDaniel that she objects to? Or Henderson? Or just the overly formal air of listing out one's full name...

Bernard has yet to release Tom's shoulders. He nods, belatedly giving Tom a shake. "Of course, my dear. But I'll give you two time to get acquainted. Tom, see her out when she's ready to walk down?"

Less a question than command, Tom just nods in reply. He watches as Bernard makes his way to the elevators, suddenly feeling as though he'd gone from partner back down to junior associate in two seconds flat.

"He's always been like that. Larger than life." Tom shakes himself, realizing Paige's quiet comments are addressed to him. "To all us kids Uncle B was larger than life. A giant, just like Dad. A force of nature not to be reckoned with."

Tom turns slowly, fully expecting her gaze to have followed her godfather towards the elevator to allow him a few moments to further appraise her. To his surprise he finds her gaze settled firmly on him. Agreement seems the best course of action, or rather, the only course of action. "Hmm. He's a force to be reckoned with here, too."

"You've got that air about you. You know."

He blinks, unsure how to answer. It's a compliment to be compared to Bernard Edward Dean. At least, that's how he chooses to receive it. Instead of potentially saying the wrong thing, his words doomed to travel back to the man himself, he simply offers his hand, and with it, a formal introduction. "I'm Tom, as he said. Thomas William Hiddleston. I'll be handling your divorce on behalf of Dean, Richards, Casey, and Hiddleston."

The moment their hands lock together he feels a jolt, a course of electricity that follows the point of contact and runs through every nerve in his body. In that same moment she smiles. It's the first time she's done so since being in his presence and now, now he can see the gorgeous woman from the photographs, still in there, just waiting to surface again once it's safe to do so.

"Like I said," she turns to enter his office, still smiling as she pulls her hand from his grasp, "Just like him."

\--

He puffs out a breath, his throat trapping the low groan that comes with it, when he sees her waiting for him at his desk. She's just another client. Was just another client. He's done his best to get her out of a bad situation. The lack of an ironclad prenup was the thing that had both caused him grief and provided opportunity.

Right. Yes. Just another client. Another client that he unfailingly spots the moment she appeared in a room, and from whom he can never seem to keep his eyes from appreciating her figure. Even when they first met, the moment Bernard clapped his hand on Tom's broad shoulder and made introductions, he'd known there was an attraction there. The moment she'd reached out and gripped his hand, he'd felt it.

**Zing**

Paige was, at that point, far too overwhelmed with a desire to be rid of the horrible man that had drained her cheeks of color, caused there to be circles under her eyes betraying a lack of sleep. The linen suit that she'd worn that day had once been cut to fit her snugly but had hung loosely on her form.

Water. He always had water and a few things to provide nourishment ready in his office when he knew she would be around.

He has been careful, too, to keep from too thoroughly enjoying the view while she's in his presence. Leering at her will cause the safe place he's created to disappear in a blink. He can't stand for that.

Drives him crazy sometimes, the need to comfort, to do all that he can to protect her. They are no longer strangers but they're certainly not more than that, either. Still he feels this urge to take her in his hands and force her to forget the ugliness in her past. And that man, Jacob bloody Mortimer MacDaniel, **will** be in her past, remain firmly in her past, though hopefully worse for wear.

There are days when he thinks he will go mad with desire for her. Those days, when he finally makes it to the door to his high rise apartment, he downs a swift drink at the earliest convenience and then goes running. Sometimes the running sessions last well into the night but it provides a release that otherwise would keep him sleepless, or lead him cock first into dreams that would mean yet another load of messy sheets to be sent down to be washed.

So yes, seeing Paige sitting in his office today, now that all the paperwork has been signed and sealed, elicits a groan. He swipes his fingers through his hair, less an attempt to smooth the ruffles and ensure his put together appearance, more as a gesture of nerves.

She spots him before he breaches the doorway, noticing his movement as he approaches. The smile she fixes upon him sends a warmth rolling through him just as every smile from her has done since the moment they met, and he offers her a glimpse at his teeth in return. There's nothing further they need to review regarding her case - which he knows Jacob's lawyers will dislike but will ultimately agree to - but she's here, and to enjoy her company a little while longer he'll rehash any and everything if she wishes it.

"Tom, I hope this is okay." She rises to shake his hand in greeting - he yearns for a hug but that wouldn't be appropriate, and this is what they decided would work in terms of greeting one another - "They told me you were here today and I..."

He shakes his head, still smiling as he pulls his hand from hers and motions to the seat she's hovering close to. "A pleasant surprise. Is there something else you wanted to look over?"

"Um, well..." In the few moments while she is distracted reseating herself he lets his eyes wander. She's wearing her hair down, a light colored silk shirt, and that charcoal grey pencil skirt that rides up her hips every time she shifts in her seat. He's going to have to run for miles and miles tonight.

He brushes his hand over his trousers leg but the tingling sensation doesn't dissipate from his fingers, rather, it spreads over his thigh. Oh yes, **that** makes things better. Inwardly, he rolls his eyes.

He's taken to wearing his workday best when he knows she will be around. All of his wardrobe is tailored to fit, and he's not quite sure what he hopes to achieve other than showing her that she's in good hands, oh God if only physically too – but there it is. With all the paperwork signed there's no reason for her presence in his office today, though.

Had she answered his question before? The tingling sensation is working its way up his thigh towards his groin. It's the first time he's thanked God for the cumbersome mahogany desk in regards to saving his modesty.

His muscles twitch and he tilts his head, refocusing on her. "I'm sorry. Lost in thought. Was there something else regarding the paperwork, Paige?"

"No, actually." She looks away from him for a moment, glancing aside at the open door to his office, before turning those gorgeous eyes on him again. "I just... You've done more than – I just wanted to be free of him. You've gotten them to agree to so much more. There's no need to..." She shifts in her chair and offers him a small shrug.

Should he look into getting new chairs for the office? Are these that uncomfortable? It's through strength of will he doesn't drop his gaze to check where the hem of her skirt now rests on her leg.

"I just wanted to thank you."

"Thank me?" He chuckles through his reply. "You did pay the firm, after all, thereby me. Honestly, all I did was get you what you deserved." Hardly _all_ that she deserved, but she wouldn't budge on the matter of bleeding MacDaniel dry. She just wanted what she'd brought to the marriage, what was rightfully hers. Nothing more. Not even half of the earnings that he'd garnered utilizing her bloody name to get in the door!

"No." She shakes her head, forcing a section of her hair to shift over her shoulder and drape gently over her collarbone, accenting the lines of her neck – that beautiful neck that he wants to litter with kisses. "But yes. Of course, for that, too. But... Also for being a human being? Does that make sense?"

The corner of his mouth twitches. Thank goodness she can't read his thoughts or she might not be thanking him presently.

Again she glances to the door, "I'm just... Finally feeling like I'm joining the rest of them. After spending a long time in the dark."

Anger roils up, starting in his gut and churning upwards to land in his chest. He's gone for every last ounce he thought he could get for her in terms of reparations for the misdeeds in the nearly two years she was linked to MacDaniel, but if he thought he could render anything further to cause Jacob more grief he'd not blink to do it. That is to say, if she'd allow him such freedom as to pursue the man to the full extent of his capabilities. No use. All terms were agreed to.

He clenches his fist, and then unclenches it as he shoves aside the pointless emotion and leans forward, reaching out towards her with his palm up. "If I could do more..." She's missed the flare of anger for her focus on those milling around on the floor beyond the door to his office. She's already smiling as she turns back to look at him again. Smiling from his words?

To his surprise and delight she reaches out, resting her hand over-top of his before shifting her fingers to awkwardly grasp the meat of his hand. "I know you think I should have asked for more from him." Even now she can't bring herself to speak his name. Thinking of him makes her scrunch up her nose in distaste. The marring of her pleasant features only lasts a moment and then she's smiling at him again. "But that's not what I meant."

He shifts his eyebrows a fraction, unwilling to move the rest of his body even an inch for fear that she'll break off their connection.

"Any at this firm might have done similar, but I don't think they would have..." She hesitates, almost unsure of herself for a moment. He feels the jerk of her muscles as she considers withdrawing from his grasp, and then the clench of her fingers tightening their grip on the side of his hand. "There's more to a person than what we see on paper. You've fought for me on paper but also..."

The urge to supply any number of words to finish her sentence almost bowls him over, some more innocent in meaning than others. He settles on giving her hand a squeeze and finding a safe path. "Like I said, just doing the job I was paid to do."

"No. Your job was to get me cleft from my asshole ex."

"A little more than that."

"Ok, yes." She concedes, "But you made sure I was a person again, too. I don't know of many lawyers, aside from maybe Uncle B, who would do that for a client."

"Maybe you know the wrong lawyers."

She gives a small shake to her head, eyes remaining locked on his, "No. I don't think that I do."

Tom lets his fingers drift lightly over her skin as he shifts to release her hand and sit back in his chair again. It doesn't slip past him that the action brings goosebumps to rise to the surface of that arm. Is she... Is she here because she's fighting against a desire for him just like the one he harbors for her? She's no longer his client.

"I'm..." Happy to hear you're feeling better? As though he hadn't noticed and taken secret joy in the changes he'd witnessed in the days since their first meeting. No. Can't say that. Thrilled that you recognize and appreciate my efforts? No. Definitely no. Thrilled that you're happy with the result of my labors and also terrified that this business being concluded means that I'll never see you again? Can't be saying that to her, either.

Curtis from the mailroom saves him from making a blunder by walking in and immediately having what seems like a fit. "Tom. Mail for you. Jean wasn't at her desk... Oh, ma'am. Sorry, sir, to interrupt a meeting!"

Tom absently stands, waving off Curtis' panic, and takes the few steps to accept the stack of envelopes. When he turns back she's standing, too. No! She can't leave. Not now. Not yet.

"I'll um, shouldn't keep you from your day." She motions to the stack in his hands and gives him a short nod.

He tosses the mail aside, dimly aware he's managed to land the stack onto the short filing cabinet next to the rubbish bin. "There's nothing pressing." He reaches out with his now free hand - desperate to touch her again and renew that connection they had shared moments before.

She stiffens for a moment under his grip on her upper arm, and he has a flash of uncertainty. Has he overstepped? Has he blown it? Will Bernard Edward Dean have his balls for breakfast tomorrow morning? Then she takes a breath and moves towards him, reaching out to press her palms against the muscles of his upper chest.

She's muttering, he realizes, though he almost can't hear her over the pounding of his heart. "I came here to thank you and then - now - oh God. Kiss me, Tom."

He doesn't need to be told twice. He dips his head down to better connect. That same zing that had rippled through him the first time he had clasped her hand within his burns through him again, though increased tenfold. Her lips are just as he imagined, just as his dreams had manifested.

The pair of them are breathless when they part, and though he hadn't been aware of it, his hands have shifted around her torso enough to rumple her smooth satin shirt and pull it loose from the top of her form fitting skirt. Her cheeks are flushed, pleasantly matching the tinge of her lips. Those lips. Those mesmerizing lips. He doesn't try to stop the smile that begs to light upon his expression. A few thousand more of those kisses and he can die a happy man.

"Are you," he hems, trying to straighten himself out a bit and regain some semblance of thought, "is this ok?"

She blinks at him, nearly laughing, "Ok? You're asking the woman throwing herself at you if this is ok? Yes." She takes a step to begin to close the gap that he'd created between them when they'd parted, lifting her right hand to flutter her fingertips over her lips. "Yes. This is ok. I mean, I wasn't sure that you wanted -- but now that you've kissed me I just want more."

More? His whole body hums in response. More! Yes.

Her skirt sits mid-thigh now and he aches to shift it further up and toss her onto any surface that will hold the pair of them. More. But is that too much? Further than what she's wanting, at least so quickly? She licks her lips, seeming to read his thoughts. One more word slips past her lips, breathless, and throwing aside all reservations holding him rooted to the floor.

"Yes."

He reaches back to blindly swat the door to his office closed. The short glass partition next to the door already has the blinds drawn to fight against the midday sun, so there's no worry for prying eyes.

He fumbles like a school boy with buttons, something that hasn't troubled him for years. His fluid, graceful motions have abandoned him in his lust to have her. In between searing kisses he groans, "You have. No idea. How badly. I've wanted you."

"Yes, I do."

Tom tips his head back to look down his nose at her, judging her expression. She does? He doesn't get to grill her further on the subject. His body is reacting to hers in a way that demands immediate action.

He continues to move with her, pressing her back until there's a sturdy surface for them to rest against. His desk. The solid mass of wood that had previously shielded him against what he thought was an unwelcome display of desire.

His hands wander down her torso as he plies her legs apart with his knee. Tom grips the edge of the grey fabric, muttering to her while he still has the will to put words into any particular order. "This skirt has been the cause of many a dirty thought."

"Oh?" Her lips brush against his ear before landing another sucking kiss on his neck.

"Jesus," he exhales, memorizing the way her mouth feels on his skin as he inches the taut material higher. "Yes. Daydreams and - nights where I've imagined scenarios just like this." He sucks in his breath when he drops one hand and his fingers discover how wet the fabric of her panties are. Lacy things, just like he's fantasized.

She lifts her chin, arching her back as he applies a light pressure between her legs. "Ah! Hmm. Good to know its served its purpose, then."

He focuses a sharp look at her, seeing the delighted smile and catching the way her lower lip escapes from the light bite she's applied. She's been _trying_ to torment him. And now it's his turn to torment her. He presses her panties aside and pushes two fingers within her, watching with satisfaction as she reacts to his intrusion. The sound she makes only urges him on.

"You've wanted this? Wanted me to claim you amidst the bustle of the day?" That man, her ex, Jacob. Tom knew Jacob hadn't deserved her - but this... This gorgeous woman currently writhing under his touch... Jacob was a fool to break her heart and her trust.

Whatever he's done, whatever it was to set him on the collision course that enabled him to know Paige, of being someone she desired! He thrusts his fingers again, making a silent vow to do all in his power to keep her happy as she arches with the movement of his hand.

She has his shirtfront gripped in her right hand, her left wrapped under his right arm and clinging to his shoulder blade. She digs her fingertips into the material covering his back and pulls, trying to bring him closer. She shifts and rests the bridge of her nose against his pectoral, her breath still reaching the skin through his shirt. "Yes!"

He grins at her answer, using his left hand to guide her head up so he can cover her lips with his again. His fingers inside her may be making her emit delightful moans - _fuck_ she's loud even while trying to muffle her noises in the collar of his shirt - but it does nothing for the twitching appendage between his legs.

"Then that's what you'll get." He releases her chin to drop his left hand down and finish dealing with the zipper of his trousers. He refuses to remove his right hand from its activities until the last moment. "With," he adds, "the promise of more." More. Yes. Always more. That's a vow that will remain between them.

Penis freed from the tight restrains of his trousers and pants, he shifts to better situate himself between her thighs. The minor quakes of her inside walls against his now damp fingers will remain locked away as a treasured memory, something to revisit when he needs a release. He leans against her, pressing his damp hand down onto the flat surface of his desk. With his left hand he grips her upper thigh, holding her in place as he positions himself.

She's panting beneath him, every breath matched by his own inability to drink in enough air. This is a dream, exactly a dream, a deep desire having surfaced. He's not sure he could stop, now, but he still has to pause, even for a moment. He waits until her eyes focus on his before he speaks the question, "Yes?"

"Yes! If you don't I swear I'll...."

He doesn't let her finish, but watches as her mouth abandons words as releases her thigh and shifts his left hand around, guiding himself to her entrance with his left hand and then thrusts his hips forward, replacing his left hand on her hip.

They're quiet enough for the daily office activities to drown them out, save for small grunts that would be unmistakable if someone were to draw close enough to the shut door to his office. Just as the small tremors had gripped and tugged at his fingers, he feels another spasm of her muscles. It's a shudder that draws a similar one from him, his abdomen clenching moments before he releases himself within her.

It was quick, too quick to be much satisfaction considering how long he's wanted to do that and more to her. He lifts himself off her, offering a hand to help her slip off the edge of the desk before attending to his trousers. "Ah, sorry. That desk probably wasn't very comfortable."

She smirks sidelong, "It served." She accepts his proffered handkerchief and dips it between her legs for a moment before adjusting her skirt back its original position.

Tom watches with a lazy, satisfied appreciation that her current disheveled state was his doing. He shifts to halfway settle himself on one corner of the desk and reaches out to brush her hair back over her shoulder. The flush to her skin will fade in another few minutes, and the pink swelling around her lips, the result of his afternoon stubble grating against her skin, in a few minutes more. His fingers drop lower, tracing down her shoulder. There's not much to be done about the fresh wrinkles in her silk shirt, but there's always the off chance they will go unnoticed.

Just as his hand reaches the charcoal pinstripe material she steps away, pulling herself beyond his reach. "Oh no. I need to be able to walk out that door."

He snorts, enjoying the laughter in her words. Nice that she thinks he could go for a round two so soon, but he'll need half an hour, at least, before his body will agree to such activities again. Also nice to know that she's thinking about another romp, wanting to bed him again even considering the speedy performance she just endured. Half of him wants to remain cloistered in here forever and see just how creative the pair of them could get in this little room.

Lost in his head, he blinks when she takes the few swift steps to come within reach of him again, surprised by her nimble speed and the feel of her lips on his. She doesn't step away immediately. As she breathes he can feel the rise and fall of her chest. "Are you ok? You look a little dazed."

"I'm trying not to wake up." Tom slips his arms around her, his rump still firmly planted on the corner of his desk. "Though if anyone pinches me I'll be sure to make their life hell the next time I see them."

"Mmpft. Funny man."

Paige fingers his collar, trying to straighten it to see if that will help with the bite marks she's left in the starched material. He reaches up to claim her hand, stealing it away from its activities. "Don't fuss over it. I'll be wearing my jacket out."

She nods to him, withdrawing again. She stoops by the chair she'd been sitting in – lovely view he's provided – to claim her bag that he'd never noticed was sitting there. Just before heading to the door she pauses, well aware of the way his eyes have followed her around the room. "Tom?"

"Yes?"

"See me tonight?"

More time spent in her company? More time to come to know the woman he's afraid, frankly, to allow to leave his sight for fear that she'll disappear into the mist of fantasy once more? Yes. Definitely, yes. He nods, at the moment unable to do more than lean casually against his desk and smile at her.

"Good. Because I want to undress you and do that all over again." With that she offers him a small wave goodbye and opens the door, letting him revel in the sway of her hips in that blasted grey skirt as she walks towards the elevator.

More.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The photo reply ficlet and word prompt rolled into one chapter.

 

He’s taken off his jacket in the courtroom and is sitting there stewing while listening to the opposition. The man’s argument is flawed - and Tom has already plotted his rebuttal in order to make everyone else present see the flaws as well. 

What’s  _really_  on his mind at the moment is the fact that Paige is waiting for him. Paige is in the middle of moving, something he’s promised to help her with, and this bloody bastard  _won’t stop blathering_. More to it, no matter when the opposition closes for the day and he finally escapes, Paige will probably be too exhausted to do more than talk with him for a few moments on the phone. 

During the earlier recess he had called to order a bottle of wine and some light snacks to pick up on his way to her new place. Now it looks as though those will be carried with him to be saved for another day. 

Damn. Looks like another night on the treadmill. 

* * *

* * *

* * *

 

 

 

 

**"You've made a mess of me, but God I love it so much." - Paige's perspective**

 

I had thought him to be sleeping, or I never would have said it. As soon as I’d spoken one of those eyelids had fluttered open, revealing just a fraction of those grey-blue eyes. 

“Hmm? What was that?” 

He’s smirking at me, I can see that much in the pre-dawn light of the bedroom. He wasn’t supposed to have heard that - the brutal honesty behind my softly spoken words. We’re not ready for that, are we?

I can’t help but smile back at him even though I’m trying not to. I bury my chin further into my pillow, both to hide the smile and protect him from my morning breath. “Nothing. Sorry. Go back to sleep.” 

He understands me, despite my pillow muffling my words. Both eyes are open now, and he shifts his head to adjust how his pillow supports him - just a fraction to combat the way I had ducked my head. “It’s  _never_  ‘nothing’ when you speak, Paige. Particularly when, and correct me if I’m wrong…” He arcs his eyebrows for a moment, his smile expanding to engulf his face in a clear display of delight, “the  **L**  word tumbles from those all-too-kissable lips.” 

“ **L**  word?” My cheeks are getting warm - which is just a response to the look he gives me while talking about my lips. 

It’s not that I’m afraid to tell another man that I love him. Certainly not that I’m giddy or nervous at the idea of love. We’ve just been careful, very careful, to avoid labeling what we have, what exists between us. It’s been complicated enough trying to figure out the mess of my divorce, and how to resolve my relocation, as well as the fact that we had lusted after one another while he was still my lawyer. Add to that the fact that we had started sleeping together after everything was finalized…

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Tom. You must’ve been dreaming.” 

“Mmphh.” He rolls onto his side, shifting under the sheets to scoot his body closer to mine. He doesn’t appear convinced by my assertions. “If you say so, Paige, but for the record… I believe it’s  _you_  that has made a mess of  _me –_ and my bachelor pad.” 

I laugh, a deep and unbridled, joyful noise escaping me as I turn, my body already responding to the motion of his. He’s done this - enabled me to laugh again, brought me back from the shell of a person that I was when we met. “That’s what you get when you give a woman the keys to the kingdom, counselor.” 

My words draw a shudder from him. Curious that words net such a reaction from him, when _I_  should be the one shaking for the light biting kisses he applies to my neck. 

“Observation,” he says as his lips brush my skin, “I’m certainly not complaining.” 

The  **L**  word. Love. Love  _him_. I do. And yet I haven’t told him. I’ve let him love me and made him wait to hear any such profession in return. “Ok.” That’s all he gets for a little while, my mouth unwilling to do more than seek out his. “Ok, you weren’t dreaming. Before. I do.” 

“Do?” 

Maybe I’m not the only one distracted this morning. Before I can change my mind about telling him, or my thoughts become entirely focused on the way he moves his hips, I need to get the words out. “I do love it. This. Us. You.” 


	3. Something Silk

 

 

Tom let’s out a yawn, his focus on the papers in his lap blurring. It’s late.  _She’s_  late – late enough that he’s tempted to leave a light on for her and call it a night. A few more minutes. He’ll give her that. Granted he  _had_  come home at a decent hour and they  _had_  discussed her staying the night at his place tonight…

Arriving home to find his place empty had been a little disappointing.

He reaches out blindly to grope for his glass of whiskey, fingers colliding with and wrapping around the drink without the need to glance aside. It’s only when he lifts and tips the tumbler up and no liquid meets his mouth that he realizes he’s polished off the glass. That brings him out of his daze. Time to get up for a refill.

The leather of the sofa emits an odd series of noises as he heaves himself up, standing with all the steadiness one might expect of an exhausted and several-drinks-in man. One last drink and if Paige isn’t home by then, well he’ll still greet her with open arms but maybe half-asleep open arms. Arms belonging to a man luxuriating in his king-sized bed.

He carefully pours another measure of amber liquid into his glass and then frowns. Ice. He’d forgotten ice. The previous chunks of it have already melted away. It means standing shivering before the freezer once more, even if only for a minute.

The required few ice cubes collected and relegated to the glass, Tom pauses a few steps from the freezer to enjoy licking the splashed drink from his digits. Paige will help him warm up – the thought brings a smile to his lips – when she gets here, that is.  _That_  thought elicits a slight scowl.

Where is she?

He should text her. Make sure everything’s alright. Make sure  _she’s_  alright. She said she would meet him here. It isn’t like her to disappear without so much as a note. Not that he needs to know her every movement – he’s not possessive, like Jacob fucking Mortimer MacDaniel – but they had plans… plans that involved the exploration of every inch of her body with his mouth… and her, his.

Where is his phone? To find her he needs his phone. Nope. Not in the pocket of his trousers.

Tom stands there, one hand in his pocket, letting the weight of his hand settle against his upper thigh as he takes another extended sip of his drink. Though weary from the long day he’d been ready to ravage her upon walking in the door. He’d  _expected_  to do just that, and had worked himself up accordingly as he made his way from his car to his place. And now, just like before, he’s standing  _alone_  in his apartment with nearly all the blood in his body flowing south.

His phone had definitely been in his trousers pocket. Definitely. So where was it? Ah – there. Under the sleek pressed-something-or-other coffee table. What was it – the first time he had Paige over – no, no. Something like the second, or fourth – nevermind when. For a few seconds, he entertains the memory of her writhing on her back with him between her legs, the scent of her, and the way she’d reached down to seek out his hair, knotting his curls with her fingers as he held her in place to keep her from falling off the table. Oh the noises she made.

She needs to come to him. Now.

Tom sets his glass at the edge of the table. Careful of the corners - and for other reasons - he kneels awkwardly to retrieve his phone. The floor offers him a stability that his legs currently can’t, so he shifts to settle onto a knee, then onto his rump rather than figuring out to re-situate himself and stand once more.

Paige. Paige. Where is Paige?

Where is she and what is she wearing? He smiles at his reflection in the still locked screen of his mobile. She’d promised a delightful silk something that left absolutely  _nothing_  to the imagination and they hadn’t yet progressed to the point of an extended wardrobe kept at one another’s place. Maybe the odd toiletry or two. Hell – they’d only just begun unpacking the boxes of things saved from…

A chuckle bubbles up and he reaches for his tumbler again. They’re both to blame for the barebones nature of her new place. They’d make more progress settling her into her new home if they spent more time dealing with the process of unpacking, less time trying to see who would be sated first.

It will not be him.

Tom takes another sip of his drink, settling himself more comfortably in the floor. They hadn’t made it to the bedroom the first time they’d fucked at her place, either. He’d brought wine – picked it up on the drive over – and offered the use of his muscles to cart box after box up to her newly purchased place. It was cozy, perfect for her, unlike the temporary little hole in the wall that she’d retreated to during the battle to be free of Jacob bloody MacDaniel.

Had he known… Tom wrinkles his nose, both at the thought of Paige’s ex, and the feeling that had overwhelmed him the moment he set eyes on the place where she had been living. It still - still - sets his blood to boil. How had her parents, or Bernard, ever allows her to do such a thing? Why hadn’t they offered up their own homes as refuge?

He coughs, shaking himself from that train of thought. That anyone could be thought to  _allow_  Paige to do anything other than what she set her mind to is laughable. And Bernard Edward Dean is fiercely protective of his goddaughter. Fiercely. Better to consider what Dean will do if things with Paige go – awry. Though he’d caught himself, the thought was there, the turn of phrase finished with the word ‘south’. South. Just like all of the blood that has pumped to his groin.

Tom leans back, rotating his hips to try to relieve some of the pressure - but the easier solution is to unzip - unzip and take matters into his own hands while he waits. He rests his glass on his chest to free up both hands to attend to his zipper.

What will Paige think if she walks in on him like this? What will she do? Will she just turn around and walk out again? Will she take in the sight on him and let out one of those delightful laughs and give him a short shake of her head, smile at him and reveal a glimpse of silk nightie beneath an overcoat as she crosses the room to join him on the floor?

All of this. He wants all of this and more from her. Always more.

His phone vibrates on the floor beside him, breaking him from his attentions. Through his teeth he hisses out a frustrated breath and shifts, carefully reaching to retrieve his mobile without causing the tumbler of liquid to tip off his chest.

It’s Paige.  _I have something to show you!_

Tom lifts his head off the floor to look down his body, past the glass of whiskey. He laughs to himself. “I’ve got something to show you, too.” Quirking an eyebrow up, he taps out a response to her.  _Is it a silk something?_

_Yes and no._

_No?_ Tom lifts his other eyebrow, both now arching up and causing wrinkles to appear on his forehead.  _Can I petition for the silk? Leave the other for later?_

 _At your own peril, counselor._  When he doesn’t immediately begin typing a response she sends another message.  _Trust me you’ll like the other too._

“Mmm. The way you look in the silk something?” He mutters at the screen of the device, dubious despite her assurances. “The silk something will win. Hands down.”

Speaking of hands, and things needing to go down. He carefully makes himself presentable again, all the while keeping the glass balanced on his chest. Whatever else she wants to share with him is clearly important and she expects him to give it due consideration. It had lured her out so late in the evening, after all.

And after that? – well, then there’s the teasing about the silk something to address. Teasing? No. Promises. And Paige always keeps her promises.


End file.
